


getting by on a technicality

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18496486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: Thursday had told him to stay in the car. In fairness, he hadn't left the car.





	getting by on a technicality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginationtherapy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/gifts).



> this is stupid lol im sorry me and imaginationtherapy were laughing abt ttropes so i said i'd give this one a try. written at nearly 1 am like most of my fics are and totally unchecked bc i am not that kinda person. hope y'all enjoy
> 
> also context what context i dont even name the gunman. 
> 
> warning minor blood mentions

Thursday’s heart hammered in his chest. Things had gone, well, to be frank, tits up. He’d gone from walking into the decrepit looking barn all guns blazing, more than ready to put a foot through the bastard that had killed at least three young men that they knew of; only to be jumped by the little blighter. He might be strong, but the criminal scum was agile, able to land a few solid hits before Thursday managed to throw him across the barn. Thursday had thought that would end the whole affair but then the git pulled a gun out of a trough, and now paced the length of the building with it trained on Thursday. 

Hands in the air the inspector watched carefully as the suspect moved, spouting some rhetoric about vengeance and righteousness and honestly, Thursday couldn’t care less. He just wanted to collar the bastard, not get a lecture. If he had wanted schooling he’d have brought Morse in. Morse, who was currently sitting pretty in the car, if he was following Thursday’s direct order. 

“Stay in the car,” he had told him, and Morse had tried to argue of course. But it was painfully clear to everyone at the nick that Morse was exactly the type the gunman went for, the learned, bookish type, reserved, that sort of thing. Thursday didn’t want to put Morse in the line of fire if he could avoid it. But this was Morse, so he didn’t exactly have high hopes his orders would be followed. 

As it stood though, he could use a hand right now. The killer was getting closer, telling him something about how those boys had wanted it, how it was all predestined to be them. Sickening, that’s what it was. How anyone could think so much of themselves, that they were above even murder. Thursday’s mind was for a moment so preoccupied with being disgusted he very nearly missed the slight waver in the killer’s hand, dodging at the right moment to barely avoid being hit in the neck by the shot. 

Well if Morse wasn’t disobeying orders already, he sure would be now. And to be fair, Thursday wouldn’t be all that upset if he did, because the gunman’s arm was already raising for another shot and he didn’t know if he had the speed to make it for the door. It was the otherside of the barn, and barred now, if he struggled with the lock he had no doubt there’d be a bullet in his head almost instantly. It really had gone to shit hadn’t it. 

The gunman’s voice droned on, louder and louder as he made slow meandering steps towards Thursday. He raised his arms, the sunlight from the high window glinting off the gun. Standing there, like some pretentious lord. He pointed the gun at Thursday again, finger grazing the trigger, and Thursday couldn’t help his eyes snapping shut. 

The explosion was louder than Thursday expected, guns shouldn’t make that much noise, nor cause such a flash of light. They usually hurt more too. He glanced down at himself. Unharmed? 

Then he realised what the noise had been. Not the gun, oh no, it was the sound of the barn doors being ripped open, thrown inwards as  _ his car  _ plowed through them.  _ His car! _

“Morse?!” Dust and splinters were slowly settling, the scene before him clearing. Their killer lay sprawled out next to where one of the doors had landed, quite clearly no longer an issue. The car’s bumper was dented, the hood looking a little worse for wear. The windshield was cracked and splattered with… blood?

“Morse!” Thursday called again. The figure slumped over the wheel stirred suddenly. A pale faced appeared amidst the wreckage, marred with a streak of blood dripping from his nose. Morse caught sight of Thursday, and gave him a wonky grin. 

“Stayed in the car sir!” He called out before promptly collapsing against the wheel again. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope u liked


End file.
